The over-pleasant lassitude
Has eaten away at him,
Resulting in the desuetude
Of the once tended-to fields of his mind.
His mind, his nemesis.
His thoughts, a labyrinth.
Better wait up for Lady Luck to reappear,
Dressed in her alluring, seductive, diaphanous gown.
The ephemeral joys of deciding for himself
Are soon plucked away by the deft fingers of fate.
She loves me, she loves me not.
Toss a coin. Tails says nothing changes.
He thought he’d been prescribed the elixir of life.
He’d obviously picked up the wrong bottle
And then spun it in the wrong direction,
A sign maybe, a harbinger of doom perhaps.